


The Empty Mouse

by Adamarks



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: M/M, No Beta we die like Kings, also kinda raffles and bunny, based more on bbc sherlock's the empty hearse, based on the empty house, ehhh idk what i'm doing anymore, here it is, kinda not really, once a johnlocker always a johnlocker, the great mouse detective you've all (no one) have been waiting for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:07:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27071749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adamarks/pseuds/Adamarks
Summary: He seethed, his breaths laborious through his opened gob. “I thought you were dead, Basil.”Mr. Pitch sniffed, his nose twitching arrogantly— Snow found the desire to punch him was mounting quickly. “Your incorrect assumptions are not to be blamed on me,” he scoffed.-The great cracksmouse, Mr. Basil Pitch, returns to London after many years away.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	The Empty Mouse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/gifts).



> ok we're calling this a great mouse detective au because they ARE mice, but like they're not detectives they're conmen like raffles and bunny. But, honestly, raffles and bunny was just slightly gayer sherlock holmes au fanfic hornung wrote for his buddy's already mega gay barely legal (tbh) detective story so like fuck it. 
> 
> I hope this was anything, Kris. You are truly the only person I could write this extremely niche au for. Happy Birthday <3

One could posit it all began one night in 1892. Late drinks in a gentlemice’s club are not unknown to affect one’s persuasions in such a way. A theory might be the Turkish Baths, which are famous for their… implications, if you will. 

Another might argue it had been the worrisome Cat Incident. Perhaps it was, in fact, the burglary, or the happening with the cheese, or the time at the opium den…

The two would deny such relations at all, given the criminality of such endeavors— the queen’s will is a harsh one indeed. No, they would not confirm such preposterous rumours, as they are but the peculiar ramblings of busy old women. 

But.

_ If  _ they were to play along with the falsehood of their entanglement,  _ if  _ such egregious errors could ever be true, they would both agree it— hypothetically— began in the year 1895, on a warm summer’s eve, in the filthiest depths of Our Lady London’s clutches…

-

“Wot th’ bloody ‘ell are  _ you _ doing here,” Snow hissed, his ears were pulled back and his tail slashed violently. He’d backed Mr. Pitch into a corner, they were practically whisker-to-whisker. 

“Eloquent as usual, Snow,” Mr. Pitch said haughtily— never not haughty, even after Snow had not seen him for two full years. “I’m allowed to attend any social gathering I desire without having to report to you first.” His fur was impeccably combed, shiny to a fault. He was a mouse among mice, and Simon hated him for it, in this moment. 

He seethed, his breaths laborious through his opened gob. “I  _ thought  _ you were  _ dead _ , Basil.” 

Mr. Pitch sniffed, his nose twitching arrogantly— Snow found the desire to punch him was mounting quickly. “Your incorrect assumptions are not to be blamed on me,” he scoffed. 

Two years of missing him, of replaying the moment that he fell off that… 

Snow was angry now, and that pot boiled over with a clenched fist, gritted teeth, and a fist flying at that  _ cheeky snout. _

-

“You  _ fucking buffoon!” _ Basil howled. They had been thrown, quite crassly, out on their behinds. Snow had landed a hard hook right to his snout, and Basil was currently delicately nursing a bloody nose with careful paws. Blood was matting his perfectly groomed fur, a courtesy he’d performed only for it to be utterly lost on the imbecile before him. 

“Now we’ll  _ both  _ lose out on that diamond. I hope you’re pleased. And I pray that you’re forced back into whatever festering hole you’ve been living in these past two years.” Basil knew what Snow had been into since he faked his death. He’d had the select few that knew about his lack of expiration keep tabs on him, and every night he’d long to be free to return to him. The years abroad and apart had functioned as his own personal hell, and seeing him again was breaking his heart in new, profound ways he had not thought possible. 

Snow’s fists clenched and unclenched. Basil could see his anger, blatantly palpable, boiling beneath his fur. He was a dirty, straw colored mouse, and he was the most beautiful thing Basil had ever laid eyes on. 

“Stop it, Baz.” His heart ached at the use of the intimate name. Snow looked up, eyes ablaze. “Tell me why you did it. Fucking— why— you— to  _ me—“ _

Basil opened his mouth, and Snow rammed him against the wall for a second time that evening. “Don’t you  _ dare _ spew shit at me now, Baz. Don’t you fucking dare.” He breathed out; it was ragged. “You owe me this.” 

Basil looked into his eyes, and then looked away. 

“I was trying to protect you, Snow.” 

“Horse piss—“

“It’s  _ true! _ I had to escape alone; I couldn’t risk you coming along. That man is too dangerous, and—“

“So ‘M just s’pposed to stay behind and  _ mourn _ you like a good li’l widow ‘til you—“

“Mother of Mary, Snow—“

_ “CALL ME SIMON!” _

They both went quiet. A water drop fell to their left in the dark alley. Basil’s ear twitched. 

“Simon.”

Simon’s shoulders fell a fraction. 

“I’m sorry.”

They slumped the rest of the way. 

Simon lowered his head, until it was tucked against Baz’s chest. His breath quivered as it left him, and Baz’s arms moved to hold him. They could be like this, in the secrecy of this piss-filled back way. They deserved it, after all this time. 

Baz tucked his nose against the crease of Simon’s ear. The fur there was softer, thinner, and he inhaled the scent of his partner after too long away. Simon’s paws tucked themselves around his waist, over his perfectly tailored coat. 

“Simon.”

**Author's Note:**

> mice! are! gay!!!!


End file.
